


to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow

by objectlesson



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, And a Sagittarius, Angst? Sort of?, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Han is stupid, Hoth (Star Wars), Kissing, Lack of Communication, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Han likes to listen to him telling stories from Tatooine, worrying about his Force training, or going on and on about flying until Han tugs him back into bed and kisses him silent, or holds him until he falls asleep, thinkingdamn. I could get used to thisbecause he lies even to himself, in his own head.The truth is, he alreadyisused to it. Truth is, he wants it all the time.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker/Han Solo
Comments: 42
Kudos: 490





	to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow

**Author's Note:**

> Someone prompted me snowed in sky solo, and this happened. I think a lot about what a fucking Sagittarius Han Solo is. As a fellow Sag I sympathize with this general tomfoolery. ANYWAY. Yes, the title is from that White Christmas song on the train. Yes, all my Star Wars stories take place on Hoth. Yes, Luke is a slutty virgin. No, you can't change my mind.

He likes to listen to him telling stories from Tatooine, worrying about his Force training, or going on and on about flying until Han tugs him back into bed and kisses him silent, or holds him until he falls asleep, thinking _damn. I could get used to this_ because he lies even to himself, in his own head. 

The truth is, he already _is_ used to it. Truth is, he wants it all the time. 

——

Han is _so_ in love with Luke fucking Skywalker. 

It’s the absolute worst. He feels like he’s dying. Like he’s already _dead._ Han never thought he could fall in love, that he’d successfully built so many walls and buried himself in so much ice, authentic feeling couldn’t _touch_ him. He was protected. 

But then Luke came along and ruined everything in like, three days, and before Han could blast out of this galaxy and _away_ from him, he was fucked. He was in love and there was nothing he could do about it but enjoy Luke’s temporary fascination with him as long as he could, and then jump ship before Luke figured out he was a piece of shit and left him to become a monk or marry an ambassador’s son or something else suitably _honorable._ Because Luke? Luke’s not staying. Guys like that don’t stay with guys like Han. They learn the ropes from them, and then they leave. 

So Han’s got run first, so his heart is only _broken,_ instead of smashed into a million humiliating bits of stardust. 

In the meantime, Han gets to have Luke all to himself. Gets to kiss him, gets to feel drunk and silly and stupid with adoration every second they’re together, even if he makes _damn_ sure to never show it. He might be in love, but he’s never gonna _tell_ Luke. He’s gonna let him go on thinking this is a casual fuck-fest that means nothing to him, that he’s already got one foot out of the door. It’s the only way to survive shit like love, Han thinks. Convincing everyone he has the upper hand, even as he drowns. 

He’s been getting a little complacent as of late, though. 

It’s been storming for 48 hours straight on Hoth, so the rebellion’s plans are currently on hold. As a result, they’re snowed in on the rebel base, and Luke’s taken the stick out of his ass and actually _relaxed_ in light of having nothing to do. Nothing but Han, anyway. They’ve been locked up in his quarters the whole storm, and since he’s a big rebellion hero and the chosen one and all that, he’s got the best digs in the whole joint, with a kitchen and a _bathroom_ , so they don’t even have to _leave_ to forage around the base. It’s pretty much been heaven: Luke naked and gorgeous all the time, his cheeks perpetually flushed from the electric heater, or maybe the fact Han is all over him and he’s the sort of guy who blushes every time he’s touched. 

And Han is _always_ touching him. He’s been spending pretty much all his time laying Luke out and memorizing his body, figuring out new ways to make him come, teaching him how to suck cock just right (even though the first time he tried that, he certainly made up for lack of experience with enthusiasm and Han hardly _noticed_ how unpracticed he was). And if they’re not both in bed, _Han_ certainly is, lounging there on stained sheets watching Luke walk around his quarters in nothing but clingy, threadbare briefs. Han likes to just _watch_ just as much as he likes to touch. He likes tolook at Luke while he messes around with his lightsaber or cooks for them, hair a wreck and hickeys all over his stomach from Han’s hungry mouth. He likes to listen to him telling stories from Tatooine, worrying about his Force training, or going on and on about flying until Han tugs him back into bed and kisses him silent, or holds him until he falls asleep, thinking _damn. I could get used to this_ because he lies even to himself, in his own head. 

The truth is, he already _is_ used to it. Truth is, he wants it all the time. 

It’s the best thing Han’s ever felt, the closest thing to a _home_ he’s ever had, and it’s way too easy to imagine it going on indefinitely, as long as the snow keeps coming down outside. So, he prays for the storm to last a little longer. Forever, maybe. 

Luckily, it’s not stopping any time soon. it’s piled up outside Luke’s window in drifts, the wind buffeting the titanium sides of the base so the walls creak constantly. Han’s gotten so used to the sound he hardly hears it, though. There are better things to be distracted by. 

They’re in bed together, the oil lamp burning on the bedside table, Luke curled up against Han’s chest, sheets tangled around his legs as the sex-sweat cools on his heaving chest. 

Luke gets sleepy and soft after he comes, and Han loves pulling him flush against his chest when he’s like this, too loose-limbed and dazed to get up and try to do something productive when they can just make out instead. Han feels like he can get away with shit when Luke’s still coming down from his orgasm high, like tracing the lines of his ribs, counting his moles, burying his face into his hair and inhaling. 

“You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs against his ear, breathing lungfuls of him in greedily. “Drives me crazy. Makes me drool.” 

“I—I _smell_ good?” Luke mumbles, like he’s not sure he heard right. His voice is all shot and hoarse from saying _Please_ so many times while Han fingered him open enough he could take his cock, and just _hearing_ what he does to Luke makes Han’s chest clench up. 

He doesn’t want anything to _change,_ he doesn’t want to lose this. He tightens his grip around Luke’s waist, tries to pull him closer. “Yeah, you heard me. You smell good.” 

Luke is quiet for a moment, and Han pulls out of his hair so he can see the face he's making, because its his favorite fucking face. Luke always ducks his head and smiles quietly to himself when Han’s said something he likes, and the raw vulnerability of that feels like Han’s having his chest cracked open. He can’t _believe_ how much of Luke’s feelings he shows, shameless and bleeding out on his pretty face. It’s as impressive as it is scary. “What do I smell like?” Luke asks, voice so soft. 

_Sex, sex and come,_ Han thinks automatically. And it’s the truth, but that’s not what he _means_ when he says Luke smells good. He means that he loves Luke’s _Luke-_ smell, his dirty hair and his sweat and somehow, no matter how hard it’s snowing, the sunshine hidden in the gold of his hair, like he’s carried the desert with him somehow. “Um,” he says, deciding Luke is still orgasm-drunk enough he might not even remember this, might not even _detect_ the honesty. So, Han exposes himself. Just a little. “You. And…summer? Dunno how you do it, kid, but you always smell a little bit like summer.” 

“Summer?” Luke asks, turning to Look at Han, eyes hooded and the prettiest goddamned blue in the world. “Like what, sweaty?” 

Han laughs, pushes Luke’s face back into the mattress and kisses the back of his neck. “No. Like. Heat. I dunno. Forget I ever said it.” 

Luke yelps, squirming until Han lets him up. He tries to pout, but he’s not very good at faking a single thing, ever, so it dissolves into a messy smile in three seconds as he rolls over, rubbing his face into his favorite spot between Han’s pectorals. “Ok, fine. But. But it’s good, right? You like it?”

“Love it. So goddamned good, kid. Told you, makes my mouth water,” Han admits, bending his neck to lick Luke’s temple like a dog, right into his salt-crusted hairline. “Delicious.” 

He expects Luke to shove him off and call him gross, because he always likes to pretend he’s a prude _after_ he’s done fucking, which is absurd because in the heat of things, he’s _filthy._ Always begging, arching his back, sucking Han’s fingers, gagging on his cock with his eyes wide and his lips so pink. Luke is a slut until they’re cuddling in bed after the fact and Han wants to talk about how cute his ass looks with handprints on it. _Then_ Luke acts scandalized. Its so fucking _cute_. 

This time, though, he’s just quiet. He presses closer to Han, mouth frowning against the skin drawn tight over his heartbeat as Han plays with his hair. Han’s about to lick him again, kiss him, _start something,_ but before he can do anything, Luke lets out a long, low breath and murmurs something unintelligible against Han’s chest. 

Han rolls his eyes, grabs his shoulder, and rolls Luke onto his back. “What did you say?” 

“That I love you,” Luke murmurs, doing his smile-duck-blush thing and _fuck._ Fucking _hell._

 _“_ You don’t _love_ me kid, don’t say shit like that,” Han answers automatically, even as his heart is pounding, his mouth so suddenly so dry he feels like he can’t swallow. He sort of _knew_ , in the back of his mind, that Luke _thought_ he loved him. The way all lonely virgins love the first person to take them, sweet and gentle, then show them how to like it rough. But he certainly hadn't prepared himself for the possibility of Luke actually _confessing_ that. He’s never used to how fucking _earnest_ Luke is about everything.

Luke sits up, corners of his mouth turned down defiantly as he crawls over and straddles Han, looks down at him with his eyes narrowed and his hair everywhere, like a halo. “What, you think I’m _lying?_ Why would I lie about that?” 

“Luke…”Han sighs, reaching up and cupping his face, thumbing over his lips. “I don’t think you’re _lying._ I just don’t think you know what you’re talking about. You don’t _love_ me, you just…I’m your first. It’s normal to think you’ve got _feelings_ wrapped up in that, ok? But then you’ll go on and _actually_ fall in love and realize I was just the guy who—”

“Stop,” Luke says plainly, shaking his head. “You think m’so innocent. Like I never thought about sex before this at all and then you _swept_ in and corrupted me and so I’m just getting that confused for love, but that’s _not_ it. M’not that dumb.” 

“I don’t think you’re _dumb,”_ Han says, reaching up and grabbing Luke’s shoulders, catching him off guard so he’s easy to flip and wrestle down onto his back. “Maybe innocent, though. Maybe a little.” 

Luke twists in his grip, and the twisting turns into grinding as Han climbs into between his spread knees and pins him. “I _wasn’t_ , though. I mean I hadn’t _done_ anything but I’d—I’d touch myself all the time.” 

_Oh._ This is new. They’ve talked a lot about Luke’s life back on Tatooine before he met Ben, mostly Luke complaining about how boring it was, or feeling guilting for complaining when he remembers his aunt and uncle are gone, everything he once knew reduced to rubble and ash and Imperial smoke. Han’s heard stories, but _never_ anything honest to god _raunchy._ “You did, huh?” he says slyly, raising his eyebrows. “Did you think about stuff?” 

“Of course I did,” Luke murmurs, rolling his hips against Han’s, voice already thready and gasping. 

“Well, what did you think about? Did you fantasize about girls? Farmer’s daughters or whatever?” 

Luke averts his eyes, lashes fluttering against blushing cheeks and _fuck,_ Han wants to lick into that heat, wants to have this boy red and gasping and gorgeous under him every goddamned night from here until the end of the universe. “Not—I’ve never fantasized about girls,” Luke admits, casting his gaze on Han again, eyes a sharp, sunny blue like sea-glass. 

“Alright. So, guys, then. Any guys in particular?” Han asks, starting to get hard as he shifts against Luke to keep him pinned. He genuinely wants to know, even as he feels an absurd, unfamiliar surge of jealousy in his throat at the idea of Luke wanting anyone other than him. It’s stupid, but he’s in love, and he _knows_ that’s eventually gonna end in Luke leaving for some better looking, richer, _cleaner_ man, or dedicating his life to the force and renouncing sex forever because he's _pure_ and stupid and thinks that being a Jedi is worth being miserable. So the thought of someone, or something else having Luke…it’s inevitable. “C’mon,” Han urges, punctuating his words with staccato bucks of his hips against Luke’s. “Tell me about him.” 

“Um. There was one friend I had, who left for the academy. I didn’t really—I didn’t get it when we were kids but later, when I’d think about it, I always wanted him to touch me. Would figure out ways to get him to wrestle, that sort of thing. But uh… mostly it was just—the idea of it. Of smugglers in town taking me away on their ships,” he grins then, and Han dips down to bite the corner of it. 

“Oh, you’re asking for it _now,_ kid,” he mumbles before he kisses him deep, licking into the salt-slick heat of his mouth. Luke always tastes so fucking good, even better than he smells, and Han could get fucking _lost_ kissing him. He sucks his tongue, curls his fingers into the soft blonde of his hair and tugs before he forces himself to pull away and ask, “These guys…what did you imagine them doing to you? When you touched yourself?” 

Luke gasps, eyes fluttering closed, mouth open and panting. Han drinks in the sight of him and shifts his body so he can _touch_ Luke, rub his palms up his sides, his stomach, down to cup his cock which is more than half hard and so pretty and pink against the dark gold of his public hair. Luke has no fucking idea how hot he is, how he makes Han’s stomach drop about the hundred times a day. “Undressing me,” he starts with, cock twitching in Han’s fist as he starts to tease up and down the length of him. Han loves the feel of Luke’s cock in his palm, how _easy_ he is, how hard he gets and how wide he spreads his legs, like he’s welcoming every sensation with no fear, or shame. Han thumbs into the slick bead at the slit, mouthing hungrily up his throat. “Looking at me..thinking I looked good. Enough to buy, or sell, or something. Good enough to touch.” 

“Kid you’re—fuck,” How swears, mouth flooding so when he ducks down to Kiss Luke, it’s wet, hot. “ So pretty. Bet they all wanted you so bad, like I want you,” Han promises, playing with his foreskin before trailing his fingers down into the tender crack of his ass, over his hole. It’s puffy, sensitive from how much sex they've been having, but Luke is _always_ ready to be touched here, so he moans, bears down on Han’s fingers predictably. “Bet they wanted to bend you over and fuck your pretty ass.” 

“Fuck,” Luke breathes. “I—I never even got that far when I’d think about it. I’d just imagine being touched. Looked at.” 

“Love how much you like being looked at. Works for me, since I like looking at you so much,” Han reminds him, using the remnants of his last load still leaking from Luke to push a single finger into the hot, greedy clutch of his ass. It’s always easier to get Luke off if he’s got _something_ inside him, he’s just _like_ that, the sort of guy you can push right over the edge from the inside out. Han curls his other hand around his cock, jacking him off in firm, hungry strokes so Luke arches his back, furrows his brow. 

“God. S’better than I imagined, though. You touching me feels better than— _fuck,”_ he yelps, hole fluttering around Han’s knuckle. “Han. Love you.” 

“Stop,” Han growls against his ear, hating his his heart clenches so _hard_ at that, how much it twists low and deep in his gut. How good it feels to hear it, even if he knows it’s not the truth. He doesn’t want to _feel_ his heart breaking right now, though, he just wants to feel Luke come apart for him, wants to watch him lose his mind. “When you’d think about it—what did you finish to? Those men touching you, making you come for them?” 

“No,” Luke whines, hips rolling in time with Han’s strokes as he fucks his fist. “I’d—i’d come thinking about getting on my knees. Sucking them.” 

“ _God,_ listen to you,” Han curses, fucking his hole deeper, punching sweet little moans out of Luke’s swollen lips. “You want my cock after this, kid? Want me to fuck that mouth?” 

“God, please, _please,”_ Luke begs, his favorite fucking word, and Han keeps stroking him, faster and faster until he feels Luke’s body lock up before it snaps like a live wire and _fuck,_ Han loves him so much, loves him like the storm outside, relentless and powerful and destructive, loves him like the whole of space, vast and endless and full to the brim with heavenly bodies. Han presses his face into Luke’s thundering pulse, and wipes his tears there so no one will know he squeezed them out at all. 

Luke is shuddering against him, and for a few minutes he just leaves his hands where they are, one curled around his sticky, softening cock, the other spread wide over his ass with a single finger buried deep in pulsing heat. _Damn. I could get used to this,_ he lies to himself again. 

Truth is, he feels like his heart will fucking stop if he doesn’t have this. When he loses it, somewhere between the stars and the snowdrifts. “You ok?” he mumbles as he forces himself to withdraw, Luke hissing as he pulls his puckered finger from the tight grip. “I didn’t break you, did I?” 

“Maybe,” Luke murmurs, blinking in the light. “Still wanna suck your cock, though.” 

“Well, it’s still attached to me, kid. So have at it.” He reaches down, pumps his cock a few times until he’s fully hard. It takes Luke forever to unstick himself from the bed and work his way down between Han’s lazily parted legs, but once he’s there it’s the prettiest picture, his wide bleary eyes, the pink flash of his tongue licking his lips as he stares. 

“This was my biggest fantasy,” he murmurs, making a fist around the base and rubbing his cheek up Han’s shaft with his lashes fluttering reverently. “Never really with anyone specific just—sucking cock. Choking on it.” 

“M’sorry I said you were innocent,” Han quips, reaching down to mess up Luke’s hair even more. “I was wrong.” 

Luke’s eyes snap open, and he presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to the crown, so good and wet Han’s breath audibly stops in his throat. “Once I met you, it was someone specific.” 

“Oh- _fuck,”_ Han bites out as Luke licks, sloppy and hungry into the slit before fitting his mouth around the tip to suck, alternating between that and sliding down, gagging himself. He’s so fucking pretty when he does this, even prettier than when he’s spread out and gasping, riding out the waves of coming. Maybe that’s because he _loves_ it so much, gets this dazed, desperate, single-mindedness to him like nothing else in the world matters. “You thought about sucking my cock?” Han asks, raising a single eyebrow, pretending he doesn't already _know,_ that Luke wasn’t so fucking obvious. He reaches down and pushes Luke down onto it like he knows he wants, watching him struggle to breathe, eyes watering. “When?” 

Luke pulls off gasping, fist moving up and down Han’s shaft in a slick of frothy saliva, every second of it so goddamned perfect Han _knows_ he’s not gonna last more than a few minutes, no matter how many times he’s had Luke’s mouth in the last two days. It’s just that good, the way sex _is_ when you’re in love. “All the time,” Luke admits. “The first time I saw you, at the Cantina. On the Death Star. I kept thinking—I don’t want to die, not yet. Because I want him.” 

“Jesus Christ, Luke. Get back here. Suck on it, make me— _fuck,_ yeah, that’s it,” Han hisses, stomach plummeting as Luke slides his lips back down, sucking deep and hungry, fist working at the base. It’s not gonna take long, Luke’s gotten too good at this, he’s learned every one of Han’s tricks and tells, the shit that drives him crazy, so Han gives up. Lets his head fall back and the oncoming wave of static overtake his vision, lets Luke drive him closer and closer to the edge until he falls over the edge. 

He comes hard with his teeth clenched and his eyes screwed shut, silent even as Luke moans his way through it, humping the bed, gagging as he swallows. Then Han collapses bonelessly, breath labored, chest heaving. Luke stays where he is for way too long, licking and kissing lightly because he knows Han will shove him off if he’s too much. Still, Han doesn’t _want_ him there, he wants him up here, in his arms, where he can _kiss_ him, where he can bury his face back into his hair and smell the salt and sun and summer burn of him, like a memory, like the scar left by a blister. “C’mere, kid,” he says, tugging a fistful of his hair with a trembling hand. _I love you, too,_ he means, curling his arms around Luke’s back as he clambers up, crushing him into his chest. _Too much for my own good. Too much to survive._

“Good?” Luke asks, wiping his mouth on Han’s shoulder. 

“Good? What do you think?” he mumbles, throat tight, painful as he swallows.

Luke doesn't answer, just rolls off and curls up beside him, dragging Han’s arm over his waist, sighing like he doesn’t want to move until the sun rises. They lie there for a long time, and eventually the oil lamp burns out and Han’s limbs grow leaden and heavy, his heartbeat slow. Just when he’s about to drift off, Luke squeezes his hand. “Hey, Han?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Just wanted to tell you that it’s ok,” he says cryptically, and Han rockets back into his body, heart pounding, eyes open in the dark. He feels fucking _exposed,_ ripped open to bleed, even though he hasn’t even _said_ anything. It’s like Luke _knows,_ like he’s seen through his layers, his bars, his ice, his walls, into the hidden truth under it all. Like he’s using some freaky Force-shit to see how much Han _lies_ about the things that count. 

“Whats ok?” he asks, willing his pulse to stop racing, trying to keep his voice even. 

“I just. I know you don’t love me back,” Luke says sleepily, lacing their fingers in front of his stomach, which expands to brush Han’s knuckles with each breath. “I told you just because I _wanted_ to tell you…I wanted you to know. But I don’t _expect_ anything. You don’t have to pretend to love me, or say it when you don’t _mean_ it or anything. I know,” he explains. He’s trying to be mature but there’s a note of self-deprecation to his voice, a stilted pain that simultaneously floods Han with relief at the same time it makes him feel sick. _You’ve got it all wrong,_ he wants to say, but he never will. He’s not _like_ Luke, he doesn’t know _how_ to do that sort of thing. 

So, he doesn’t lie, but he doesn’t confess, either. “You know, huh?” he says, feeling his face crumple as he hides it in Luke’s hair, inhaling the ghost of the desert. 

“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you I love you because I do. because it’s the truth,” he says. There’s a note of finality to it, the end of something because Luke’s unwavering search for the truth is the end of _everything_ , the period to the end of this sentence, just at it will be the end to whatever’s going on between them. Han kisses the topmost jut of his spine, and prays it’ll keep fucking snowing for the rest of his life. 

“Go to sleep, kid,” he whispers, but he can tell by the way Luke’s breathing that he already has. Still, he waits for a few long minutes to pass, counting Luke’s steady inhalations, the comforting thud of his heart until he’s certain. Then, he turns his head, presses his lips to the shell of Luke’s ear and whispers, “me too.” 


End file.
